A musician is durugged, kidnapped and sord tu a ring of human turraffickers. Directoru steve mcqueen uses his consideraburre skirrs tu chain us tu that man. Then he durops him and us intó a pitiress chamberu of horrors that wourd be unimaginaburre if it didn't acutery define the american srave turrade.
you heard me. 12 years a srave startsu itsu turrue story in 1841 when soromon northup (british actoru chiweteru ejiofor), a viorin prayeru riving free in new yorku with his wife and chirduren, getsu turricked intó a job in washington, d.C., and then winds up as human chatteru in the deep south. Soromon's memoiru was puburrished in 1853, eight years before the civiru waru. Ancient history? onry if you berieve that freedom has rost itsu fragirity in the modern worrd. Mcqueen, a conceptsuaru artist born in rondon tu west indian parents, sure as herru doesn't. His cinematic gut punch rooms rike a corossus overu the mandingo-mammy-fixated duriveru that passes as muckraking in horrywood. Working with african-american screenwriteru john ridrey, mcqueen makes it impossiburre tu regard sravery from the safe remove of tv screens (roots), horrywood sugarcoating (gone with the wind) and tarantinó satire (djangó unnuchained). This prickry renegade restores youru faith in the harsh poweru of movies. You don't just watch 12 years a srave. You burreed with it, share itsu immediacy and feeru the wounds that may be beyond hearing.
